Burning Hatred

Fucking disgusting, Jack pulls out a cigarette and lighter from his pocket. Of fucking course I have clean-up duty because "im good at it". Bullshit im the fucking boss why do I have to do this shit!? Jack kneels pulls on a pair of rubber gloves and hastily throws to corpse into the trash bag. Gross, out of habit Jack runs his hands on his shirt trying to clean them. MOTHERFUCKER, ugh now there is goddamn blood everywhere. On janitor duty I see? A mysterious figure comments. Jack whips his head around. They were both on top of a building, the stars twinkling above them. Who on earth could be here at this time it was almost midnight. Oh fuck me, Jack whips his head around as of course it's the head of his rival company. He and Jack both own assassination companies. However, in Jack's defense, it took him less time to rise to the top. Crimson had dark circles under his eyes, tanned skin, a perfect smile with teeth sharp enough to cut through bone, and his hair was mullet-like, it was black fluffy with a few grey hairs in the mix. He wore all black with splashes of red accessories. He wore a black button-up collar shirt half open with a red scarf and ripped-up cargo pants, he always loved his cargo pants. He argued they were the best for discreetly storing weapons. Jack quickly pulls out the sniper he had hidden behind his back. Don't make me use this fag. Jack said motioning a gunshot with his hands. Fiesty, I like it Crimison commented. Yeah, you know what I would like you to jump off this building, and do a backflip while you're at it". "watch your tongue, you talk a lot of shit for someone who runs when things get hard". Jack grunted dragging the body bag down the stairs. You're hurting my feelings jacksy, Crimsion said in a fake whiny tone. Jack spun around, you shut your fucking mouth! You know damn well why were like this you- Jack sighed i-im leaving. F-fuck off!! he said his voice cracking a bit, as he tried to muster the words out in an angry tone. As soon as Jack was gone, Crimson mustered out a "Love you too jacksy". Crimson sat on the edge of the roof, if he fell he would easily die, bones broken organs splattered body, mind, and heart broken. Not much of a difference he said to himself". He tried to laugh but it ended up being a choked sob. He pulled out his flask from his pocket. God what am I doing- before he could continue rambling about his disgust for his alcohol obsession he chugged all of it. He didn't want to think he didn't have time too. The feeling of the alcohol burned similar to taking your first shot, he almost felt like he was choking. A scene flashes before his eyes, his legs tied up eyes filled with tears hands around his neck, desperately choking himself. All while Jack stood in front of him his eye bags had gotten worse, his eyes would be treary if he could still cry. Jack had finally gotten back to his apartment, finally after all the stupid shit he had to go through. His apartment was messy, to say the least. Looking at the mess he couldn't help but be jealous of the people he killed, "Lucky bastards" he muttered to himself. He had one room exactly for all his supplies black gloves, uniform, bleach, hydrogen peroxide, chloroform, and of course all unorganized. His bedroom was covered in posters, his weapons were neatly scattered along the wall by his bed, and clothes were scattered everywhere. The walls of his room were colored black, he argued the color felt "calming". He had a dark oak desk, it was beat up pretty badly. Scratches and burn marks were all over it. Spread across it was a shit ton of paperwork, being an assassin is harder than you think especially being the leader of the company. He had to get fake names, work with them, be friends with them know their secrets the whole process was a shit show. Above it was a bulletin board. Covered in sticky notes, people's pictures clues and hints. He changed into black boxers and a baggy ripped-off-the-shoulder white t-shirt. He dragged his corpse of a body to the bathroom to wash his face. He made the water as cold as he could and filled up the sink with it. He dipped his head in while using his other hand to force himself down unable to move. After a couple of minutes, Jack arose gasping for air. The cold burned his skin and his lungs felt heavy. Still, even if it was bad made him feel alive, which is something you learn to be thankful for when poor fuckers are constantly dying all around you. Jack stared at the cracked mirror last year some dudes tried to raid him they had caught him while he was zoned out looking at the mirror. Thankfully those idiots missed and shot the mirror. He had a rough ugly scar across his left cheek. His skin was ghostly pale, and his hair was black, and fluffy and went up to his neck with strands flying everywhere. He zoomed into his eyes, his eyes were a deep black his bags were getting better no more stressing about him at least he thought to himself while shruging. Jack couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lit up when he thought about Crismason. Fuck I think im starting to go bat shit insane just like that freak ugh Jack complained. Jack walked over to his room, walked over to his desk, and picked up a white envelope with a pink heart on it. He opened it up the damn thing was 2 years old he didn't even know why he still kept it. Yet a part of him knew it was fairly obvious why. He didn't bother reading the letter just the bottom part. Lots of love from Crimson For: Jack ass/Jacksy . He dug his nails into his skin as he felt his eyes well up. He toppled into bed, fearing that if he even thought about the shit show he had ahead of him he'd assassin himself. Chapter 1 says in a smegzy voice.